The golden thread of the forest running alongside her thoughts twinged, sending a melodious sound reverberating through her head, beautiful and terrible at once. The arm that bore her Mark—now half bark—burned and ached, as if she’d caged sunlight beneath her skin.
“Call yourself back, Redarys,” Eammon snarled at her, in a voice layered in leaves and barely human at all. “Call yourself back to me.”
It seemed too simple, the thought that she could simply stop. And did she really want to? If this was what saving Neve required of her? How far was too far, when you loved someone this much?
Eammon’s eyes. Amber haloed in deepest green, aching and damp. “Please, Red.” His voice, unfettered by leaves, hoarse and low. “Don’t leave.”
Don’t you dare leave me here alone. She’d said it to him once, in this same clearing. A promise between them, before they’d admitted anything else. A promise she wouldn’t break now.
Gritting teeth that felt like bark and tasted like sap, Red tugged at the Wilderwood, spearing her intention back into the ground just as she’d done when she began.
Not like this, she thought, sending the words like arrows. Give me another way.
And the Wilderwood sighed, as if it’d been wanting that all along.
Her consciousness collapsed back into a humanlike shape as Red pulled herself from the earth. At first, her fingers were still roots, white and thin, but slowly they retracted into the form of a hand, skin instead of bark. It hurt, and she shuddered.
A shape lay in her palm. Too clumped in dirt to make it out, as if she’d tugged something from within the earth. She didn’t have time to puzzle over what it was—the ground rumbled beneath her, lurching like the back of a waking beast. It was enough to toss her off-balance; Red shoved the shape into the pocket of her tunic and braced her hands on the ground.
As soon as it had begun, the rumbling stopped.
And in the mirror, there was still nothing but dark tree roots.
The bitter tang of dirt in her mouth tasted like failure.
Across the clearing, Eammon’s eyes blazed, brown and green, the veins above his bark-armored forearms standing stark against scarred skin. He looked more like a forest god than a man. They stared at each other, the air between them crackling.
“What are you doing?” It gritted through his teeth like a curse. “What are you doing, Red?”
“This made the most sense.” She stood on shaking legs. “It’s how the Shadowlands have always been opened before. I knew you would stop me if I told you.”
“Damn right I would.” He stepped forward, moving like a predator. “Damn right I would stop you from coming apart for no reason. From doing the absolute most dangerous thing you could, when you don’t even know it will work.”
“She’s my sister, Eammon.”
“And you’re my wife.” Almost a snarl, and his hands curled into claws. “You expect me to just sit by while you unravel?”
“It’s what you expected of me, wasn’t it?”
His mouth snapped shut.
Red closed her eyes, took a deep, shuddering breath. “I couldn’t just not try.”
Eammon shook his head. “You should’ve told—”
“What do you want?” A new voice, pierced through with so much vitriol it distracted both of them from their fury. Two pairs of forest-altered eyes turned to the edge of the clearing.
Fife, teeth bared and face stormy. One sleeve pushed up, his opposite hand clasped around his forearm. Beneath his fingers, the Bargainer’s Mark blazed like a beacon.
The noise in her head, the burn in her arm. Fife must’ve felt it, too, Eammon’s desperation making the Wilderwood send out its call.
Lyra stood behind Fife, expression unreadable, fawn-brown eyes wide. She looked at Red and Eammon, pressed her lips together, and turned away.
“Fife?” Confusion laced Eammon’s voice. His hand wasn’t on his Mark; he didn’t look like he’d felt the call, though it’d struck through Fife and Red like an arrow.
She’d never seen Fife look quite so angry. Freckles stood out on his pale face, and his chest heaved as if he’d run miles.
“You called.” A snarl through his clenched teeth, like the word was something he could bite in two. “We were almost to the Keep, but you called, and I had to come. So here I am.” His hand slashed toward the surrounding forest. “What the fuck do you want, Eammon?”
Red swallowed. “It’s my fault,” she said quietly, moving to stand between Fife and Eammon. “I did something foolish, and it… Eammon panicked.”